


be my rest, be my fantasy

by teddyaltmeme



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, scho be like: feeling very tender about blake rn, the sheer amount of tenderness in this movie rlly gets me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:00:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddyaltmeme/pseuds/teddyaltmeme
Summary: Will would give anything to keep Blake here in his arms forever, safe and sound. It can’t last, it never does.
Relationships: Lance Corporal Schofield/Lance Corporal Blake, William Schofield/Thomas Blake
Comments: 8
Kudos: 212





	be my rest, be my fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to carrie & lowell by sufjan stevens a lot while writing this and lemme just say.... that album has strong blakefield vibes specifically the first two songs 
> 
> uh anyways , I wrote this very quickly after I saw it for the 3rd time it’s not that great but I have another one that I’m almost finished so ;)

Will likes it when Blake is happy. Mostly because Blake is the only unspoiled thing in his life, a memory of what he used to have; something beautiful and warm, something kind. Blake is the only man he knows who has yet to lose a part of himself to the war- when he sleeps he still has dreams. He likes it when Blake is happy, because it means there’s still light somewhere in his life, even if it’s just a candle-flame.

Will tries to pretend that it means nothing, it seems kinder than admitting the truth. If not to Blake then to himself. Blake is too good for him, too good for this place- for anything really.

Will pretends that when Blake lays his head on his shoulder or in his lap, it’s simply for comforts sake. That when they kiss- when they’re alone and it’s too dark to see- they’re just chasing the ghosts of girls back home they might never touch again. That the ache he feels when Blake says his name is just hunger or maybe dehydration. 

He pretends so hard he starts to think it might be real, but then Blake smiles at him and the truth is irrevocably known. 

He’d do anything for Blake. 

If Blake asked him to walk his way through no mans land unarmed in the daylight, he’d hop over with no hesitation. He’d stand there and scream at the top of his lungs until german bullets mowed him down.

Looking at him now, as he sleeps, he knows he’d do anything at all. He’s so pretty. Without thought Will let’s his fingers card their way through Blake’s hair, it’s unwashed; stiff with dirt and oil, but he doesn’t much care. He’s always liked the way the darkness of Blake’s hair contrasts the rest of him, in a way it makes him look more alive. Unfaded. He looks every bit his age; far too young to live with the knowledge he might die at any second. No matter how hard the world wants him to be, or how he might think he is; he’s not a man yet. He may never be. Will would give anything to keep Blake here in his arms forever, safe and sound. It can’t last, it never does. 

‘Sco?’ Blake mumbles, only just awake. Will pulls his hand back fast, as if the speed of the action will counteract what preceded it. He’s not sure if Blake even registered it at all.

‘Mmhm?’ 

‘What were you doing,’ Blake asks, voice still sleep-soft, ‘While I was asleep?’

‘Waiting for you to wake up,’ At that moment Will feels as though Blake can see right through him, like the ruse was over before it even began. 

‘Huh,’ Blake looks up at him through long, dark lashes, ‘Why do you even let me do it?’ 

Simple question, maybe, but complicated nonetheless. They both know what it really means, what Blake’s asking of him.

_ Because_ _,_ Will thinks,  _ because I love you and I could never say no- because I’m afraid I might lose you forever and this is all I’ll have left. _

‘I wasn’t aware I had a choice,’ Will goes back to pretending, but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

‘You always do,’ Blake’s face falls a little, and Will realises he’s misstepped, made Blake feel bad. 

‘I don’t need one,’ Honesty is no sweeter, but Blake’s smile is like honey, ‘I don’t  _want_ one.’

‘What do you want?’

‘You, I suppose,’ It feels strange to say it out loud, to even acknowledge it, let alone say it to Blake. 

Blake doesn’t reply, but he rearranges himself until he’s sat facing Will, knees bracketing his thighs. With Blake slightly elevated they’re about equal. In the grand scheme of things Blake’s eyes are nothing special; blue, just the same as Will’s own, but they seem it. Bluer and brighter than the heavens themselves, no sea nor sky could compare. The rings on Blake’s fingers are cold against Will’s cheek as he pulls him in closer, a harsh contrast to the heat of his mouth. 

Blame it on youth- lack of experience- but Blake isn’t a very good kisser. He’s over-eager and unintentionally aggressive, though it’s perfect in its own way. It’s always needy and desperate, as if there’s nothing in the world he wants more. 

They’ve done this before, maybe a dozen times, but right now it feels brand new; it’s still light enough to see Blake in front of him- there is no more pretending. 

There is nothing fake about Blake’s weight atop him, or the way he presses their foreheads together when he stops to breathe. He’s so close Will can see his freckles; the way they mark him like constellations across his flushed cheeks. 

If someone were to find them now, they’d likely be killed, but it doesn’t matter anymore. To die like this would be fine, at least they’d die together. Rotting into one another for all eternity, their bodies swallowed up by foreign soil. Then maybe, in another, kinder life, they might meet again. One without mud, one without fear. 

Will often wonders how Blake must feel about him- surely not so morbid. Blake has others; a brother whom he idolises, a mother who dotes on him, and seemingly endless friends. Will hasn’t much of anything anymore, he’s pushed his own family out so far he’s not sure if he’d even recognise them if he didn’t have pictures. Blake could carry on without him, Will isn’t so sure what he’d do without Blake. He can’t see what Blake sees in him at all; the only thing they have in common is a uniform, and Will knows he’s not exactly interesting, not anymore. 

‘Do you ever stop thinking?’ Blake slumps forward, pressing his face into the crook of Will’s neck. The answer is no. His mother told him once that he had a writer’s brain, that it was a blessing and he should be thankful- mostly it just feels like a curse. He’s usually good at shutting it all out, but Blake lowers his defences- even the ones better kept up, ‘Tell me you’re thinking ‘bout me, at least.’ 

‘I always am.’


End file.
